


Pribram's Theory of Evolutionary Adaptation

by MoMoMomma



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Brainwashing, Conditioning, Frottage, Hand Feeding, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. And Jacob knows a good dog only stays under the porch if you pet it every once in a while.





	Pribram's Theory of Evolutionary Adaptation

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot of implied consent in this, Rook going along willingly and happily with what's happening, but do understand it is done under circumstances following torture and isolation. The narrative is mostly driven by someone who's been and is being conditioned to be utterly loyal to someone to the point of think that's the only thing important in their world. If ANY of this makes you uncomfortable, I urge you not to read. If it does not, I hope you enjoy! <3

“How ya holdin’ up?”

It’s not a question Jacob actually wants the answer to. It’s a taunt, made to spark a fire in him, cause him to use what little strength he has left to act out. It’s a trap and it’s so fucking appealing Rook almost falls right into it.

But he’s weak. Strung too tight. Hungry and thirsty and _weak_.

So weak Jacob had him moved from a cage to his room. Because clearly he’s not a threat in his current state.

Rook wishes that wasn’t true.

“Silent treatment, huh?” Jacob clicks his tongue, back to Rook, messing with something on a nearby table. “Guess I understand that. Deserve it, even.”

He sighs, like he’s utterly disappointed in something. Like he’s just found his favorite toy broken on the ground.

“Pity. Had a treat for you if you were willing to behave.”

“What sort of treat?”

Jacob laughs, turning, arching a brow at where Rook’s pushing himself to sitting on a too hard mattress. 

“What’dya know, he can talk.”

“What sort of treat?” Rook repeats, licking over dry lips, measuring the way Jacob’s scanning his eyes up and down his form.

It’s probably another trick. Jacob seems pleased enough with him during the trials, sweet growls of praise in his head, little contented sighs when he kills without concern or care to what’s at the end of his weapon.

Like he gets off on watching Rook be a destructive killing machine.

“C’mere and I’ll show you.” Jacob drags a chair closer to him, settling with thighs spread wide, the breadth of his shoulders still hiding whatever’s on the table behind him. “Come on. Come sit on my lap.”

Rook grumbles but obeys, crossing the room without a care to his naked form. Jacob had taken his clothes when he’d shoved him under the cold spray of a shower with a barked order to scrub down and hadn’t bothered giving him new ones. Another classic kidnapping tactic--like Rook gives a single shit at this point that he might have to escape in his birthday suit. 

He tries to sit sideways, like a kid on Santa’s lap, and pushes against Jacob’s hands when they grab for his hips. It earns him a stinging swat to his thigh, Jacob’s handprint in bright red, and he winces but allows himself to be guided. He winds up more or less straddling one huge thigh, one bent knee shoved between Jacob’s hip and the back of the chair, the other extended to drape across Jacob’s lap proper.

It exposes his cock in a way that makes him shiver and Rook is _definitely_ not going to examine why right now. 

Jacob twists, reaches behind him, and Rook gasps softly when he comes back with a bowl of freshly sliced fruit. Apples and pears, it looks like, and Rook has to swallow back a rush of saliva at the sight of food so close after so long.

“Yeah,” Jacob murmurs, watching him with a hungry expression. “Figured you might be a bit peckish. Shipped in from John this morning, he sends his regards.”

“Don’t send me back to him.” Rook begs before he can think, the scar on his chest aching at the very thought.

There’s no telling what John will etch into him if he gets his hands on him again. Jacob might keep him from food and water, run him until he can’t feel his legs anymore, but he’s not carving off bits of flesh on a whim. 

Any port in a storm, at this point.

“Don’t you worry, sweetness.” Jacob strokes a hand down the length of his thigh, curving around bent knee, thumb a teasing metronome on bare flesh. “Ain’t near done enough with you to ship you off.”

He lets go, leaving a warm patch behind that tingles curiously, before reaching into the bowl. Rook’s eyes drop shut as he plucks a piece of fruit from it. He’s so hungry it’s an ache in his stomach, a constant and endless pain, and it’s almost too cruel of Jacob to eat right in front of him.

He can’t watch him chew and swallow when his own body is running on less than empty. 

“Open up.”

“Wha--” His words are cut off by the way Jacob slides the apple slice between his lips, a teasing smirk on his face.

Rook chews frantically, almost biting his tongue in half in his haste, and groans when the sweet and crisp flavor bursts over his tongue.

“What? Wasn’t expecting that?” Jacob laughs and picks up another piece, pressing it into Rook’s waiting mouth. “Had a little change of plans. Can’t just beat a dog into submission, y’know? Gotta give it some treats. Punish the bad and reward the good. S’how you make ‘em so loyal.”

Jacob reaches up, grips his neck, forces Rook to look at him with a gentle shake, tearing his eyes from the bowl.

“And you’re gonna be loyal to me, right? Gonna do everything I ask?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Rook breathes, stomach twisting, eyes darting between the food and Jacob’s gaze. “More?”

He’d sell his goddamn _soul_ for food right now. Selling his freedom seems like a bargain in comparison.

Jacob laughs but gives him another piece. A pear this time, sweeter and softer, and Rook can’t help the soft moan that escapes as the never-ending gnawing in his gut seems to loosen just the smallest bit. He sits--well, he sits like a trained animal, accepting each piece as Jacob deigns to give it with little hums and whines of thanks. Rook’s beyond caring if he’s making an idiot of himself now.

Jacob is _feeding_ him. Let him clean himself. Let him rest on top of something that wasn’t hard packed dirt at the base of a cage.

Fuck Joseph and his proclamations. Right now the only savior Rook can see is _Jacob_.

Rook whines, mouthful of food, when Jacob sits the bowl down at his side. He can’t hope to lean over and reach it without falling away from Jacob’s body heat--which is the only thing keeping him from shivering in the cool mountain air that seeps in through improperly sealed windows--but it’s not _empty_ yet. There’s still more he could have, more to fill the existing void in his stomach.

“Relax,” Jacob chastises, reaching behind him once more. “Needy little thing. Just figured you might want something to wash it all down with.”

Rook’s breath hitches in his chest at the sight of the canteen, remembering the last time he’d seen it. He’d been so thirsty every swallow hurt, like his muscles were forcing acid down his throat instead of spit, and Jacob had used it to _wash_ his hands. Let it fall between his fingers to the ground. 

This time, though, he screws it open and lifts it to Rook’s lips, tipping it slightly. It’s not enough to let him guzzle it down--he’d probably choke if he tried that anyhow--but there’s a steady stream pouring into his mouth and Rook just keeps swallowing. It fills his stomach a bit more, water taking the space for food, and he’s gasping by the time Jacob pulls it away. He knows there’s more in there too, hearing the slosh as Jacob screws the cap back on and switches it out for the bowl of fruit.

Jacob alternates like that until it’s all gone. Until the bowl has been tipped to his mouth, the juice at the bottom rolled around on his tongue until Rook was forced to swallow it to accept the offered water. They’re both put on the ground and Jacob pets a hand through his hair, shoving it back from his forehead. 

“There. Now don’t we feel all better?”

Rook hums, letting Jacob guide him until he’s resting his head on his shoulder. He smells good up close, gunpowder and pine trees and the earthy smell of dirt clinging to him. And he’s so _warm_.

“Sleepy now?”

“Yeah,” Rook tries to bite back a yawn, doesn’t accomplish it very well if Jacob’s amused little huff is anything to go by. “Don’t suppose I can sleep?”

“Not quite yet. See, humans have evolved to do four things in the event we revert back to our base selves. Ever heard of the four F’s?”

Rook shakes his head, hums and wriggles slightly when Jacob trails a calloused hand up his spine. The touch is gentle, light as air, but the rough bits of his hands scrape in the best way, better than any massage Rook’s ever had.

“Fighting, fleeing, feeding, and fucking. S’what we’re made to do, at the end of the day. Brings you back to level, satisfies that nasty lizard brain underneath all the rational thoughts and bullshit the world tells you that you oughta be.”

Jacob taps on his spine as he lists them off, each thumpthumpthump of his fingers knocking the words into Rook’s head until it’s all he can think about.

“Fighting. Fleeing. Feeding. Fucking. Now, let’s see--” He hums, drawing lazy circles now. “You’ve fought, we both know how much you’ve fought. Practically all you do. And you’ve fled from me once already.”

A pause where Rook’s shoulders start to crawl up around his shoulders, explanations and excuses on his tongue for some stupid reason.

“But we both know you won’t do that again, hm?”

“Yes,” Rook breathes into Jacob’s neck, pressing his nose there when the touches continue like they’d never stopped.

“Good boy. So that’s two. And we just fed you up nice so that takes care of that. Not exactly a meal fit for a king but I didn’t want you throwing up your first real food in ages. Now, pop quiz, what’s left?”

It’s not hard to remember, the words a pounding war beat in his head.

“Fucking.”

“Well done, sweetness.” Jacob says and Rook’s almost too distracted by the purred praise that he misses the hand Jacob wraps around his cock.

He’s hard. When did he get hard? 

Everything’s a blur, vision edged but not with red. No, it’s a softness to the world that sharpens to a point on Jacob. Everything revolves around him, especially as he starts to leisurely pump his hand. 

“Gonna be a passive observer in this?” Jacob asks, letting go to trace one finger up the bottom of his cock, pushing it back towards Rook’s stomach before it drops when he flicks the tip gently. 

“N-no.” Rook shifts his weight, bites back a soft cry when his cock brushes the rough material of Jacob’s pants. “I don’t know--what am I supposed to--”

“Can’t have everything hand-fed to you.” Jacob slides the hand on his spine down, flattening it over the small of his back. “Gotta work for some of it or you’ll get lazy. Complacent.”

“I don’t underst--”

“You want it, right?” Jacob hums, a pleased note, at Rook’s furious nod. “Then let me be clear. The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh. You worked for everything else, right? Fought by yourself, ran by yourself, sat like a good boy for every bit of food. So you gotta work for this too, sweetheart.”

Rook takes a moment, cautiously rolls his hips forward, nearly misses Jacob’s small approving nod. The pleasure is instant and _sharp_ , clawing its way up his spine until it yanks his head back on a groan that feels like it tears it’s way free from him. He hasn’t gotten off in--god, what feels like months. Since all this started. He’s had more important things to deal with but now the need is worse than the hunger pangs, scratching up his insides, twisting his world around until nothing matters except the pressure and sensation of his cock against Jacob’s thigh.

He winds up holding onto Jacob’s shoulder as he works his hips, leverage as best he can get it, their chests pressed so tightly together when Jacob speaks it rumbles through them both. Rook tucks his face into Jacob’s throat, feeling the scrape of his beard against his cheek, everything hot and wet in the space between lips and flesh.

“Excellent. Take what you need. You deserve it, don’t you? So powerful, so strong. Clawed your way to the top. So well done.”

Rook shudders and shakes, the world drawn to a focal point around JacobJacobJacob. His words and his touch, the bracing comfort under him, the power in the body tucked so close to his own. He’s strong but Jacob is _stronger_. He can take care of him, protect him, and all Rook has to do is be _good_.

He can be good. He can be _great_. 

For Jacob.

_Only_ for Jacob.

“Only you,” he whispers brokenly against Jacob’s pulse, licking out at salt and dirt, shaking when Jacob makes a soft noise of pleasure.

“That’s right. Only me. And only you. You’re the only one I could’ve trusted with this, could’ve made into what you are. You are so much _stronger_ than the herd. The wolf among the sheep. I just had to coax your fangs out.”

“Cull the herd.”

He can feel Jacob’s smile against the side of his face, lips pressed to his temple as his hips lose their rhythm, rocking desperately, chasing an end so close he can taste it on the back on his tongue.

“ _Perfect_.”

Rook falls to pieces at the whispered praise. Teeth clamping down on the material of Jacob’s jacket, shuddering so hard it feels like his bones have liquified as he spills across Jacob’s thigh. Everything is hot, slick, frenzied breaths and clutching hands. Jacob’s holding onto him though, so Rook isn’t floating away.

Jacob has him. He’s safe. He did _good_.

“S’that all you have in you?” Jacob asks, fingers squeezing between them, brushing too sensitive flesh.

Rook chokes on an inhale, the exhale coming out in the form of a needy whine when Jacob wraps a hand around his cock. It’s wet with his come and Jacob’s hand slips easily when he pumps, coaxing out the last few drops until every single breath gets trapped in Rook’s chest. 

“Good enough for now.” Jacob lifts his hand and Rook doesn't even think, opening his mouth to accept the curl of fingers against his tongue. 

He laps every bit off and then some, until he can’t taste the acrid of his come and only tastes Jacob’s skin. Like a dog cleaning its master’s fingers after dinner. 

“Rest. You earned it.” Jacob takes his hand away, tucks Rook’s head back against his shoulder. “Tomorrow is more training. More trials. And you’ll do so well, won’t you?”

“Good for you,” Rook mumbles, eyes slipping closed almost without his conscious thought.

Jacob said he needs to sleep so he should sleep. Jacob’s right about everything; how strong Rook is, how weak everyone else is. How Rook is wasting all that wrath and power fighting against the inevitable. How he’s serving the sheep and not the wolves. Why wouldn’t he be right about this too?

Jacob is the only person who’s bothered to give a damn about him. Satisfy his every need and then some. He’s the only person who matters.

“Only you.”

“That’s right.” Jacob breathes. “Only me. And only you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's a real theory and yes, I did have three pages open on research of it. And no, I don't have anything better to do with my time. Shoutout to the anon who prompted this on my tumblr (which you can find [HERE](https://momomomma2.tumblr.com) if you want more Far Cry nonsense!)


End file.
